The Little Bookshop On the Seine (12 page)

My jaw dropped. “Erm, I wasn’t being…”

TJ piped up. “Tyler, watch your mouth. You’re being rude. Sarah’s simply saying there’s money missing, and it’s not going to be tolerated. Makes me wonder why
you’re
being so defensive…” he gave Tyler a pointed stare. “Got something to admit?”

I threw TJ a grateful smile. And hoped my skin wasn’t as beet red as it felt. If Ridge was here, and in charge, he would have belted out missives and had them shrinking back, and here I was getting told off! What was I doing so wrong? Maybe I had to be harder, sterner?

“Don’t try and turn this on me!” Tyler spat to TJ and then faced the others as if leading a battle. “She’s basically calling all of us thieves! We work for next to nothing here, and then she’s got the gall to accuse us? I’m not having it!”

Beatrice crossed her arms and gave me a pitying downturned smile. “Sarah, look, there’s certain ways to go about sensitive issues like this. Guys,” she faced the staff, “she’s new, I don’t think she knows yet how this place works. Maybe give her the benefit of the doubt, just this once?”

They flashed me daggers, and it was all I could do not to shake my head, and cry out WHAT! What the hell just happened? Give
me
the benefit of the doubt? I was in bizzaro-land, I was sure of it.

I pressed on: “What I’m trying to say is…”

Tyler rolled his eyes, and cut me off. “Save it, Sarah. Until you know what you’re on about.” He stomped off, and the others followed suit, leaving just TJ and Beatrice. I blew out a breath, my heart racing at the conflict and my meaning being so misconstrued.

TJ patted my shoulder reassuringly. “It might be better to chat individually next time. Not that anyone will admit they’re taking the money. But then you won’t have everyone following Tyler’s lead.”

Beatrice gave me one of her smiles which somehow came across a little condescending. “I did tell you, Sarah. There are certain rules here. It’s a busy place, and staff come and go. It’s about the experience for them, you can’t strut in here and try and change things. It won’t work.”

I frowned, completely baffled by how I’d done the wrong thing, when really, they had. I made my voice as even as possible. “I’m not trying to change anything,” I said, hating the slight wobble which betrayed my inability to stand up for myself. “I’m just saying money going missing won’t be tolerated. What kind of place is this, that I can’t say that? Sophie knows, she’s really disappointed.”

“Perhaps she should have to put more thought into who she hired to run the bookshop then,” Beatrice said. “If she’s disappointed in you, I mean.”

“I didn’t mean in me, I meant that the…” My words fizzled out, as I stared at Beatrice’s retreating back.

I rubbed my face, willing myself not to well up. Honestly, this was such a bizarre and confusing situation. “Don’t worry,” TJ said. “They’re testing you. Like toddlers do to their moms. Pushing the boundaries to see how much give there is.”

I nodded, dumbly. Too surprised to speak.

The blonde man who spent his days upstairs in the conservatory watched the exchange, and gave me a sympathetic look before retreating outside. I envied him his freedom to come and go.

The girls’ faces sprang to mind and I yearned for home. Whenever I was upset, we’d gather at the Gingerbread Café. They’d ply me with cake, and make jokes until I snort-laughed my way to happiness, knowing they were on my side, always. CeeCee would’ve doled out some of her no-nonsense southern advice that puts things into perspective. My fingers itched to call them, but I wanted them to be proud of me. Not worried that a few weeks in, I was a stressed out mess. So, I’d approached the staff the wrong way…it was time to rethink my strategy.

Once the shop was mercifully shut, the front door closed against the chilly breeze and the promise of customers, I escaped. The paperwork could wait an hour or two. Paris at nighttime was like a canvas waiting to be captured by the nimble fingers of a painter. Stars glittered in the blue-black night, the moonlight casting its yellow hue across the Seine, and I thought of Vincent Van Gogh and the way he’d been able to bring such scenes to life, that lived on long after him. Shoving my hands into my coat, I breathed deeply, the freshness like a tonic for my soul. Happy to stroll without any plan, I found myself in front of a church. From my back pocket I took my guide book, and flipped until I found the description. Sainte-Chapelle, famous for its stained glass windows. Before I could dither about going in, the most haunting music rang out, freezing me to the spot. Classical notes drifted into the night, so melancholy and poignant, I wanted to cry out at the sound. Someone tapped my arm, and spoke in French, “
Rapide, quick, ou vous allez manquer
.”

Quick, quick, or you’ll miss it. I followed along, not sure if I was supposed to pay, but feeling the music deep down in my soul. When we stepped into the main part of the chapel, my mouth fell open. The rich colorful stained glass windows pulsed under the lights, ornate gold shone down. I’d never seen anything so glorious, and coupled with the music, it was one of those moments that made me understand how precious life is, and how I was finally, really living it. And a few dramas along the way were par for the course, I suppose. It couldn’t all be rainbows and butterflies. Inside the church, I understood how people believed, whether it was religion or love, or friendship. Being in the heart of the Sainte-Chapelle, surrounded by such artistry I knew anything was possible. The stranger, an elderly woman who’d led me in, pointed to a pew.

I fell in love with Paris, and its people, and the creative souls who’d made it this way. If only Ridge were here to experience this with me.

Chapter Eight

I was stacking the front table with the some newly arrived romances when Oceane called to me. My plans to find someone to be in charge of replenishing the books were forgotten, since I’d got them all off side when I asked about the missing money. “Phone call,” she said. “From America.”

“I’ll take it in the back room,” I said, wanting some privacy, knowing it was one of the girls from back home.

I picked up the receiver, out of breath, and said “Hello?”

“Well there you is! Cherry blossom, how’s the city o’ love treating our girl?”

I wanted to shriek at the comforting, familiar tone of CeeCee’s voice. “It’s…good.” I was careful how much to say, but CeeCee with her so-called second sight would know anyway. She was intuitive like that.

“You gotta give it time, my darlin’. Till then, know we’re thinkin’ of you, and missin’ you like crazy.”

I took a deep breath, and sat on the edge of the paper-strewed desk. “I miss you all so much! How is everyone?”

“We’re all good. I’m calling to tell you Lil’s not just five minutes ago had a little baby girl…”

The dam broke and tears rolled down my face. I wished so much I was in Ashford, with my friends, with people who treated me well. Already, I’d missed a huge event, the birth of Lil’s baby. They’d all be hanging out together in the waiting room, nursing mugs of watery coffee, waiting on news about Lil. I felt a dull ache in my heart, being so far away. “A little girl!’ I cried. “What’s her name?”

“Her name’s Willow, and she’s as sweet as anythin’. Bald as a badger with one tiny tuft of blonde hair at the front. Damon’s gonna email you a photo. Lil said she couldn’t get on with trying to feed her until you’d been told, and the photo sent!”

“Awww,” I didn’t trust myself to speak. My friends knew instinctively that I’d be miserable missing out on such a special occasion, and they’d included me anyway. “Tell Lil I love her, and I’m so proud, and give Willow a kiss from me. I can’t wait to snaffle her up for cuddles, and smell that new baby scent.”

“She be waiting for you, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Like a click o’ the fingers, you’ll be back again, so enjoy the time you have there. Lil says she’ll Skype you as soon as she’s home and settled in. We thought we might all head to her house too so we can see your pretty face, and know you’re OK.”

After I caught CeeCee up on my adventures, I hung up and opened my email. I clicked on the picture of Lil gazing at baby Willow. Lil’s eyes were full of love as she stared at her little girl. Willow slept soundly in her mom’s arms, her expression peaceful as if she knew she was right where she belonged. And here I was, a million miles from home, when I wanted to be there with my friends so much I ached. Even if I wanted to go home, give in and say it wasn’t working, I couldn’t because I still didn’t have my passport.

I printed the grainy picture of Lil and baby Willow. My email pinged, and another attachment came through – a photo with the girls gathered around Lil’s hospital bed. CeeCee held baby Willow, and Lil and Missy had a handwritten sign propped in front of them saying, ‘
Hello Aunty Sarah, love Willow xxx
’. I printed that one too, and retreated upstairs to one of the quieter rooms so I could be alone.

Precious photos in hand, I climbed the rickety steps, willing myself to hold it together until I was out of earshot. In the quiet of the map room, I finally let the tears spill. I gathered my legs up on the battered velour sofa, and tried to stare at the photos through glassy eyes. Was I a failure? Who comes to Paris and doesn’t enjoy it? When I was strolling through the cobblestoned streets myself, I adored it. But in the bookshop it was like I was trying too hard and making mistakes, upsetting some indistinct balance between shop and employee. Ridge flashed through my mind, and I was tempted to call him and pour my heart out, but he was a man of the world, a seasoned traveler who’d have whipped the shop into shape. Would he pity me, not being able to handle it like the sheltered girl I was?

Footsteps worked their way up the stairs. I hastily swiped away at my tears, and hoped whoever it was wouldn’t venture into this room. It was filled with dusty old maps, and a mishmash of globes in various states of disrepair. Old compasses, and barometers. Like an adventurer’s cave, a place to come and dream about the next voyage. Boats in bottles sat on hutches. The thought of not being one of those types, someone who takes the reins and sets sail, made the sobs start anew. Goddammit, I was losing it. I wasn’t a blubberer usually, but here my emotions were heightened, and I felt silly for it.

A blonde head peeked through the door. “Bonjour. Are you OK?”

I started. The guy who spent most days hunched over a table in the conservatory. His intense blue eyes marred by melancholy, or so I imagined. “Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. Just…” I grappled with what to say that wouldn’t make me seem like a fool. A little lost without the routine of my old life.

“Homesick?” His features softened.

“Umm…yes,” I said. “Is it so obvious?”

He gestured to the sofa beside me, as if asking for my permission to sit. I nodded.

“It’s not for the faint-hearted, this place.”

I must’ve had looked like some doddery, faint-worthy girl. “It’s a contradiction, sometimes, I suppose.” Wrapped up in its embrace, tottering along a forgotten avenue, I felt alive, and present in that very moment. But seeing a picture of my friends, and sweet baby Willow, a part of me longed for the simplicity of life back home.

“That’s what makes it such a great place,” he said, smiling.

“What do you do all day in the conservatory?” I hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he was still a mystery.

I’m sure he flushed a little. “I write.”

“Books?”
No, Sarah, he writes the telephone directory. Sheesh.

“
Oui
.”

“What type?”

He shrugged as if it was nothing. “Love stories.”

He ran a hand through his hair, and stood abruptly. “I hope you let Paris show you its beauty. What you don’t find in here,” he motioned around the room. “You’ll find out there. Just give it time.”

And with that he strode out. I wanted to follow him into the conservatory and ask him what his name was so I could find his books, but his sudden need to retreat stopped me. Maybe one of the staff knew who he was.

November

When November rolled around, I was still struggling to adjust to the hectic nature of my job. By afternoon, I was reaching for the paracetamol, as the chatter in the bookshop reached fever pitch, and so did the buzzing in my brain. It was a culture shock, getting used to the crowds, and the noise, and the fact there was never time to take a break. Back home, it was nothing for me to amble across to the Gingerbread Café and chat to the girls for an hour. Here, I could barely take a minute to dash to the kitchenette for a drink. I could see why Oceane stepped out for long lunches, because the days were endless; to the credit of the staff, they stayed as long as was needed, but you just never knew when they’d deign to work.

There was no pattern for peak times, the ebb and flow of people changed without warning. When the shop was empty of crowds, we scurried along, righting piles of fallen books, and restocking tables of the bestsellers, scooping up trash, and taking a deep breath before the shop filled again.

Lunchtime was approaching and I found myself eager to get outside, away from the mob of customers. There was only Oceane with me. Beatrice had stepped out to run errands, and TJ was due in, not that that actually meant he would be.

Callie and Jorge arrived, two of the casual staff, and I almost wept with relief. The claustrophobic nature of the packed bookshop was getting to me. “Hey!” I said, a little too exuberantly. “Can you take over? I need to run to the bank, and…”

Jorge held up his hand. “Nope. Just stopping by for some books.”

I threw Callie a desperate look.

“Same,” she replied. “Besides, we worked yesterday.” As if a shift every few days was enough. They walked through to the piano room without a backward glance. I had to do
something
for things to change. It was absolute mayhem, and I was red-eyed from fatigue.

TJ loped in with Beatrice in tow. “Guys, finally!” I said. “Look, I need to go to the bank, and post some of the online orders. But I wanted to run something past you. I’ve been meaning to do it since I first arrived, but there hasn’t been a moment spare.” I sent up a silent prayer this would go better than when I corralled them into a group about the missing money.